Cat's Claw (14 page)

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Authors: Amber Benson

Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy fiction, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - Contemporary

BOOK: Cat's Claw
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“I’ll make a deal with you, Calliope Reaper-Jones. One that will be mutually beneficial to both of us,” Snarly head proposed, taking a step closer to me so that its words would not be overheard by anyone or anything but the other two heads.
“Anything you wish,” I murmured, but in the back of my mind a little voice instantly started fretting over what
exactly
I might just have agreed to.
“There is a man named Senenmut, a talented architect that worked on some of the great Egyptian monuments. For reasons unknown, he has been
removed
from the system—even though his soul was due here at my gate centuries ago,” Snarly head said, giant yellow eye unblinking.
So far, so good, I thought. I could get the supernatural yellow pages out and dig up this guy easy enough.
Not.
“Of course, I have no way of knowing where Senenmut is, or even if he still exists. As far as I have been able to ascertain, he has never stepped inside any of the other Gates of Hell, but I cannot say if he was ever smuggled across Heaven’s shores. His soul might very well have been returned for renewal upon his death and no one thought to erase him from my book.”
“You mean, he might be someone else now?” I asked curiously.
I was always acquiring new pieces of information about how Death worked. I had no plans for needing the information in a work-related way, but I didn’t want to look like a total loser when Jarvis got going on one of his lectures about the Afterlife.
All three heads nodded in unison at my question.
“But wouldn’t he still retain some memory of his old self?”
Snarly head thought about this for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes, it’s rare, but in some cases, a soul can retain a vestige of its former memory,” Snarly head conceded.
“Uhm,” I said, “I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but do you have any ideas, or leads, or whatever, on how I might discover this guy’s whereabouts? I’m not really much of a PI, but I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”
“I can only assume that if you find his Death Record, then you will find the man, in whatever form he now resides in,” Snarly head said, offering the only help I was gonna get out of him.
“You said earlier that this would be a mutually beneficial undertaking?” I inquired. I wasn’t gonna just do
something
for
nothing
, favor or not. I wanted Runt and this was my ticket to getting her.
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I,” Snarly head mused. “You are still in possession of my daughter, Giselda. I would be willing to broker her freedom from Hell if you were to do this small favor for me—”
“And the favor I owe you for trying to steal Runt—I mean, Giselda—in the first place? That would be discharged, too?”
Snarly head nodded in consent.
“We don’t need to sign anything or something, do we?” I asked. “Your word is good enough—”
“MY WORD IS LAW!” Snarly head bellowed.
Crap, I hadn’t even
meant
to offend the three-headed beast, but that was exactly what I had done. I was a terrible negotiator.
“Of course it is,” I murmured. “Just double-checking.”
Snarly head glared at me, just a crack of yellow revealing itself between the massive eyelids. The other two heads continued to pant. Apparently, the heat in Hell got to the folks who lived here, too. I wondered why the Devil didn’t try putting on a little air-conditioning every once in a while. Might be pretty good for morale.
Of course, it would render the adage “Not a snowball’s chance in Hell” kind of obsolete.
As I stood there, weighing my options, I could feel a bead of sweat snaking its way down from my hairline and insinuating itself into the folds of my sweater. I really
was
gonna have to wrap things up if I was gonna have any chance at all of getting the Missoni dry-cleaned before every stain I’d gotten on it set.
“Okay, done. I agree to the deal,” I said, since all other options seemed moot.
Snarly head smiled, the first smile I’d ever seen cracking its ugly beast of a countenance. It kind of gave me the chills. The little voice inside my head was still babbling about what I’d gotten myself into, but I ignored it, making myself think of Runt’s cute little mug instead. If this is what I had to do to secure her freedom, well, consider it done.
Both of the dumb heads came forward and licked each of my hands in turn. It was the weirdest way I’d ever sealed a deal—and minorly unpleasant to boot.
“If you fail in your mission, Calliope Reaper-Jones,” Snarly head said after I had been double licked by its brethren, “you will forfeit all rights to Giselda and she must be returned to me, no questions asked, your favor will not be discharged, and you will remain beholden to me until I see fit to release you from your debt.”
“What do you mean when you say the word ‘beholden’?” I asked quietly.
Snarly head smiled again and this time I felt a definite creepiness set in.
“You will become the Guardian of the North Gate in my stead.”
I swallowed hard, the heat and the magnitude of my situation making me feel faint.
“I had a feeling you were going to say something like that.”
“Do you accept?” Snarly head asked, long, sharp teeth revealing themselves beneath the now-waning smile.
There really wasn’t a choice. I was between a rock and a really, really,
really
hard place. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my jeans sticking to the salty wetness of my body like a second skin.
“I’ll do it.”
Snarly head lowered its face so that it was mere inches from mine. I could smell the stench of rotting meat on its breath and I almost gagged. Its face was so close to mine that the great unblinking yellow eye looked like a giant fried egg plastered to its face.
“Calliope Reaper-Jones, you have twenty-four hours to complete your task . . .
or else you are mine!
”
I know I should’ve just turned around then and there and let Cerberus have his big dramatic moment, but I couldn’t do it. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I needed his help getting back to Sea Verge.
“
Uhm
, sorry to spoil the climax and all, but could you, uh, call up a wormhole so I could get back to Earth?” I asked tentatively.
Snarly head blinked and I was gifted with another blast of rotten-meat breath right in my face.
Yummy!
“I suppose I could,” Snarly head said, raising itself back to its normal height.
“Thanks,” I replied, once again feeling like a dimwit for not being able to call up my own wormhole and disappear.
I really needed to remedy the situation—and fast—so that I didn’t have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get me where I needed to go. It was annoying
and
totally embarrassing at the same time.
“By the way,” Snarly head said, “this is for you to take with you.”
Something cold, solid, and about the size and shape of a gold Amex card magically appeared in my right hand. Little digital numbers flashed across its face faster than I could read them.
“What
is
this?” I asked curiously, feeling its weight in my hand.
“It’s a rubidium clock,” Snarly head replied. “It will let you know how much time you have left, down to the exact Planck unit.”
As I stared at the rubidium clock, I suddenly felt a gentle breeze playing with the hair on the back of my neck. I turned around to find the wormhole Cerberus had opened for me right in the ether of Hell. I slid the rubidium clock into my pocket and stepped inside.
 
 
i found clio and Runt waiting for me in the kitchen when I returned. They both looked perturbed but hopeful as I landed on my ass in the middle of the spotless whitewashed oak floor and promptly collapsed into a nauseous heap.
“You okay down there?” Clio said, munching on something creamy and beige that looked surprisingly like a Nutter Butter square.
I nodded, but just the
thought
of food being consumed nearby made me want to hurl whatever stomach juices were left in my stomach after the last time I’d thrown up.
Apparently while I was gone, Clio had eaten two pieces of toast, an orange (whose peel now sat in a Jenga-like clump on the counter), and a container of yogurt, and was now working her way through a shiny red package of Nutter Butters. This was tantamount to a binge for my usually calorie-conscious kid sister, so I could only surmise that she had been worried about me while I was gone.
This thought made me feel all warm and loved . . . until she started yelling at me when I tried to explain why Cerberus had summoned me down to Hell.
“You
what
?” Clio shouted, bits of uneaten Nutter Butter spraying in my direction in response to what I’d just told her.
“There was nothing I could do,” I moaned. “My hands were tied.”
“And if you don’t find this guy in twenty-four hours—what then? We lose Runt?” Clio said, her eyes wide with dismay.
I nodded, not liking it any more than Clio did—but she hadn’t been there! She didn’t know how
little
wiggle room Cerberus had given me . . . or how intimidating it was to deal with a three-headed hellhound who could rip you in half with just one bite.
“Look, how hard can it be?” I surmised, my stomach feeling less heave-worthy now that I was back on my feet and functioning. I could even watch Clio munching on the Nutter Butters without too much distress.
“Have you ever
been
to Purgatory and seen the Hall of Death, where they keep the Death Records?” Clio asked. “It’s a huge place, and if you even got that far, you’d need a letter of release from Dad or someone on the Board of Death to look at the stupid files anyway.”
I shrugged.
“I don’t think
that
will be a problem.”
I figured it wouldn’t be a huge deal to talk my friend the Goddess Kali into giving me the release form I needed—and if she balked at my request, well, I could just do what I usually do and wing it.
“You can’t just wing it, Callie,” Clio said as if she were reading my mind. “Yeah, I know how you operate, and don’t even think about it. There’s so much security in the Hall of Death that it’s ridiculous. They’d sniff you out in two seconds flat.”
I scowled at my younger sister as she leaned against the marble slab-covered kitchen island, not at all appreciating her negative attitude.
“And how do you know all of this?” I asked, trying to keep the snippiness out of my tone.
Clio sighed, then stuffed another cookie into her mouth. As she chewed, I could see her struggling with how much information she wanted to divulge to me. Which only made me wonder
what
exactly my little sister got up to when I wasn’t around—and once again I found myself curious about the mystery man my sister had to be seeing. Now wasn’t an appropriate time to give her the third degree, but I definitely intended to get the information out of her at a later date . . . whether she liked it or not
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Cal,” Clio said finally. “It’s just . . . I sort of promised Dad that I wouldn’t tell anyone about it. And I don’t want to piss him off or anything—”
“Tell anyone about
what
?” I blurted, exasperated by my sister’s hedging.
“About the internship he got me in the Hall of Death last summer—”
“He got you
what
?” I stammered, not entirely believing I’d heard her correctly.
“I wanted to know more about what Dad did for a living, so I asked for an internship at Death, Inc.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, confused.
“Are you mad at me?” Clio asked, looking at me nervously, her hand distractedly petting the top of Runt’s head like it was Buddha’s belly, ready to grant her an extra helping of Luck.
“Why would I be mad?” I said, squirming inside for some reason.
“I don’t know . . .” Clio offered, her words trailing off into the unsaid.
I shrugged.
“Look, there’s nothing to be mad about, Clio. Why would I care?”
Clio exhaled, releasing the tension in her jaw and shoulders I hadn’t even noticed was there until now.
“Thanks, Cal,” Clio said, smiling. “But please don’t tell Dad I told you, okay?”
I nodded,
my
jaw and shoulders now acquiring the tension Clio’s had just lost. I didn’t really know why I felt so unbearably weird inside about the whole thing. I mean, it wasn’t like
I
wanted to work for Dad or anything. Still, the fact that he’d just let Clio chill in Purgatory without any supervision all summer made me feel kind of, well . . . I guess the correct word would be “jealous.”
“It’s not really a big deal, Cal, but you have to believe me when I tell you that security was, like,
extremely
tight.”

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